We Are All Americans
by Alistine
Summary: It's been ten years since the attack, but the pain will never completely go away. A memorial fic for September 11.


**A/N: Ten years ago, two airplanes crashed into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in New York City. Over 3000 people lost their lives in the attack, and many more firefighters, police officers, and emergency personnel joined them before the end of the day. The attack sparked a decade-long War on Terror that still continues all over the world. However, no amount of war and killing will bring back the thousands of lives lost.**

**September 11, 2001. One of the greatest tragedies mankind has ever known. And for a brief time, the world was united in its desire to end terror and warfare forever. We have to keep that desire alive. **

**In remembrance. _Requiescant in pace_.**

* * *

><p>He waited there for a long time, arriving with the stroke of midnight that signaled the end of the previous day. At first, it was quiet, the sounds of New York muted in the heavy night air as if the earth itself was bowing its head in reverence for those lives lost. And so he wandered alone, silent, hands buried in the pockets of his antique bomber jacket. He didn't hold back the sorrow then, starlight and neon glistening together in the tears streaming down his cheeks.<p>

As the dawn approached and the city awoke, he changed his musings. Instead of roving around the construction equipment, shoes scuffling on concrete earth, he found a bench near the edge of the courtyard and waited. Sunrise came, sending tendrils of yellow light scampering over metal and stone to caress his face and dry his tears. He smiled then, smiled at the arrival of a new day, smiled at the early commuters that hurried past him, women in track suits, a street vendor setting up his cart on the sidewalk.

Soon the streets were filled with people and cars, and he became only one in a sea of many faces stopping to stare at the memorial. Eventually, the empty lot began to fill with its own people: men in suits, carrying briefcases and Blackberries, Bluetooth headsets constantly whispering in their ears. There were speeches, songs, a temporary stage decked out in red, white, and blue. He nodded to his boss when the limo pulled up, but he didn't go any closer. He just watched then, for he had no desire to mingle with the bureaucrats, the mourners falsified for the cameras. He would be there, as was his duty and his right, but he would grieve in his own way.

When night fell, and the streets began to sleep again, he returned to his wanderings, pacing around the giant footprints that the two towers had left, fingers tracing the wall surrounding the pools. The names of the dead - _his_ dead - seemed to glow in the near darkness as he touched them. He wept then, wept as he remembered each face, each ambition. Each dream that would never see light.

There was no one to comfort him. He wasn't surprised that he had spent the day alone. It had been expected, anticipated even. His people had foreseen him needing the day off to mourn, but the rest of the world had long since forgotten. Why would they remember, anyway? It was an attack on his own soil, _his_ tragedy, no one else. Somewhere in the city, a clock struck eleven. The sound pierced his soul, deep and lonely, and he fell to his knees, screaming his sorrow to the night sky.

A hand touched his shoulder. "America."

He jerked his head up, tears streaming down his face. "Canada?"

His brother smiled softly, the moonlight shining on his glasses, but his red-rimmed eyes gave him away. "You didn't really think we'd forgotten you, Al?" He tilted his head, looking back over his shoulder, and America, shocked and amazed, followed his gaze.

The courtyard was full of nations.

There was England, surrounded by his brothers, with Australia and Sealand close behind. Beside them stood France, his arm around Seychelles, for once not arguing with Monaco. Then there was Spain, clasping Romano's hand, Veneziano leaning back into Germany's broad chest. Prussia stood grinning with Hungary and Austria, Switzerland trying not to look at him, focusing instead on Lichtenstein standing beside him with Netherlands, Belgium, Luxembourg, and Bulgaria. Clustered nearby were the Nordics: Denmark's axe nowhere in sight, Sweden and Finland close enough to be one person, Iceland and Norway smiling shyly at Poland, who had managed to get an arm around Lithuania's waist. There was Russia, his expression somber as he waited between Belarus and Ukraine, Latvia and Estonia quivering close behind. China stood with his family around him: Hong Kong and Taiwan, Korea, Vietnam. Japan, smiling softly with those infinitely sad eyes. There was Turkey, peacefully watching with Greece and Egypt, Albania and Cuba silent on the sidelines. And of course, Canada, his brother, his closest friend. The entire _world_ was standing amongst the trees, America realized, his shock melting away into something different, something he hadn't felt in years.

Gratitude.

Canada gently helped him to his feet. "This isn't just your pain, Alfred. We all lost something that day." He smiled again, an expression of such understanding and love that America couldn't help but smile back.

As if on cue, each nation was suddenly holding a candle, small and white, but unlit. Canada pressed another into America hand, pulling him to stand in the circle between England and France, who immediately released Seychelles to pull Alfred into a tight embrace. "We could not leave you alone on this day, _mon fils_."

"We're your family, Alfred," England added, resting a hand on his former colony's back.

Canada nodded in agreement, leaving his brother with their near-parents as he moved to the center of the circle. One by one, he took in the sight of the assembled nations, then looked down to the unlit candle in his hand. "Ten years ago," he began, his voice uncharacteristically clear in the night air, "we all heard the unthinkable news. America had been attacked, and the World Trade Center, a gathering place for all nations, had burned to the ground. We knew the moment it happened. Every one of us felt the explosion, felt it as our children died in those flames. And for that moment, we were united, one world joined in our horror and fear."

"That unity did not last long, we all know. Our own fears turned murderous, and we each sought some form of revenge, sometimes against the innocent. We were all tempted to seek only our own good, hear only our own truth, acknowledge only our own suffering. Before long, we had returned to our own ways, our own troubles. We forgot to try for peace."

"Tonight, however, ten years later, we have returned to the site of one of the greatest tragedies in modern history. The nations of the earth, together in one place, with one common goal." Canada finally looked up to meet America's tear-filled eyes. "To remember."

"_Ignis_," England breathed, and immediately, the candle in his hand sparked to life, a solitary flame dancing in the darkness. Pausing just long enough to wipe a single tear from his eye, he then touched the burning tip of his candle to Australia's, starting the flame around the circle.

"We remember all that was lost to us that day," Canada continued as the light passed from Australia to Sealand, then on to Cuba. "Our sense of security, our peace, our innocence, our belief that we were safely beyond such random violence and death." Turkey touched his candle to Japan's. "We remember the innocents killed in the attacks, the selfless sacrifice and courage of those who put the safety of others above their own, the citizens who rushed to help and did all they could to make the tragedy more bearable." The flame jumped from Ukraine to Russia, his usual ghastly smile replaced with an expression of deep sorrow. "And we remember that feeling, the strength that we had when we all came together as one world. We hope for a future in which none shall live in fear, none shall take arms against a neighbor. We hope for the peace of the world among people and nations, religions and cultures." The flame had nearly finished the circle, Germany passing it to Veneziano with a solemn smile. "And in our remembering, may we stand with those who mourn," Canada's eyes met America's, violet and blue melting together, "and those who cannot stop mourning." Seychelle touched her candle to France's. The circle was almost complete, familiar faces glowing with gentle firelight. Only America and Canada remained.

Booted feet silent against the pavement, Canada crossed the courtyard to stand before his brother, clasping his hands in his own, their unlit candles bumping together. Before America could even think to speak, England and France moved in from either side, each wrapping an arm around him before pressing their candles to those in the brothers' hands. "We're here for you, Alfred," Canada whispered as their wicks burst into simultaneous life.

And around the circle, the nations as one lifted their voices in song.

_Oh, beautiful for spacious skies,_

_For amber waves of grain,_

_For purple mountain majesties_

_Above the fruited plain._

_America, America_

_God shed his grace on thee_

_And crown thy good_

_With brotherhood_

_From sea to shining sea._

America felt his legs give out, overwhelmed by the sincerity, the genuine _care_ in those words. The entire world gathered together, ancient enemies and dearest friends, joined to mourn with him...he couldn't bear it, falling to his knees in awe, weeping freely without shame.

And standing over him with his arms around his shoulders, Canada - beautiful, strong, loyal Canada - wept with him, his voice carrying easily out for the world to hear.

"Let these candles represent for us the light of our shared memories, our histories, our comfort and strength. The light of our hope. And the light of our unity as we join together once again for a common goal."

"_Cruentus niveus maris_," England whispered, and the dancing flames flickered red, white, and blue.

"Today, we are all Americans."

A clock struck midnight.


End file.
